Par les tendres soirs de lune
by Empyrean Philharmonic
Summary: True love is always a mystery, or is it? Everyone has at least pondered once in their lifetime on why the world exists, why we fall in love, why history repeat itself, the secrets of the universe we all inhabit, the like. It's not much different here for Lydia, a musical Gardevoir, and Rex, the mysterious Gallade... AU.
1. Prologue

Prologue

It would take many a years later when Lydia the Gardevoir distinctly remembered the turbulent emotions of excitement and anger of their clandestine love. Except it wasn't truly clandestine love. Rather, society labeled the two lovers as doomed and their relationship immoral. Society found out their supposedly concealed love, and they became exposed. Reminiscing on these memories seemed to be, at first, a disturbing situation. However, she dismissed this as unimportant and meaningless. They were merely memories; enjoyed in a special place in a special time in which they could never be reenacted. They were no different from fairy tales. They would never happen again. She took this attitude with a brisk, solid movement.

The repercussions, she remembered, were unusually strange, to say in the least. Their punishment was not one would ordinarily think they would bear. It wasn't simply everyone looking down upon them. While everyone looked down upon them, they also surged with jealousy and wrath at the discovery. Moreover, their consequences unexpectedly wound up being brutally demonic and bloodthirsty. Lydia had the validation to prove the violence; it was a crescent shaped scar engraved on a body part that she would never dare show anyone on a normal basis. She kept a cashmere burgundy scarf around her neck, as it hid a part of her disfigurement.

By coincidence, Lydia's burgundy scarf made the beautiful Gardevoir much more quietly seductive than most. If one were to compare her to other Gardevoir, there would be no doubt that Lydia would be the most silent, the most secretive, and the most alluring of all. Many would agree that she had a maturity more stern, esoteric, and profound than most. The burgundy scarf only enhanced this. Of course, Lydia herself wasn't so well-aware of this; she only had a vague, intuitive idea of what she looked like outside of her own eyes.

It was on one questionably fateful night in which Lydia was dreaming in her sleep when she realized that her dilemma was more threatening than she had thought it would be. She woke up in the deepest black of the night, the soft city lights shining outside of her hotel window in neutrality. She was wet, everywhere. Sweat streamed down her arms, her legs, her face, and it soaked through her long, waist-length hair, and her gown, permeating through the bed sheets. She was alone; there was no one sleeping with her. That's how it had been for the past years of her life. The last man she had slept with was someone's name she chose not to say. She almost thought her heart was dying a little bit more when she heard his name spoken through the voices of others. He was, after all, her lover. He was her only lover in which she felt that soulfully deep, transcendental tie bound between them.

It wasn't really a dream. It was only that Lydia refused to accept this as a memory of hers. She knew that this "dream," in its true form, was in actuality a memory. It went a little bit like this:

_ The Gardevoir moaned dreamily, almost drunkenly, as the Gallade continued caressing her with his mouth. This act was severely intimate, and she wasn't so foolish as to let him do this to her so casually. It had taken time for their relationship to develop seriously. After all, they were no different from any other couple out there._

_ There they were pushing against each other, their desires raging inside them, longing for one another. Lydia gasped out in half-pain and half-pleasure when Rex pushed her against the mahogany wall. It was clear that the Gallade's desire was storming violently within him._

_ "This… this is wrong," Lydia whispered with hesitant regret, her mind slightly dizzy from what was happening._

_ Rex sighed painfully as he released his lips away from her neck. His breath trailed softly against Lydia's soft, winter-white skin. He did not look into her eyes as he asked the next question. "Do you want to stop?"_

_ "…No, damn it all." Lydia pulled Rex closer to her, leaving him barely any space to breathe comfortably. "Damn it _all_."_

_ "I don't want to, either," he replied hoarsely as he gripped her even tighter._

_ Their hearts pounded wildly against each other, their souls resonating in a single, harmonious note. Rex softly nipped Lydia's shoulder, prompting quiet, feminine "mphs" from the Gardevoir in return as a free hand of his unashamedly trailed up one of her thighs. Her breaths grew heavier, harsher, and her body shifted impulsively as Rex's excitement rose inside him. The Gallade pressed his lips against the Gardevoir, their mouths soon within each other's as their small sounds grew louder, more frenzied and determined._

_ Both the Gardevoir and the Gallade felt hopelessly and desperately doomed as they continued kissing each other. The dangerously passionate love between them was not at all like fire, nor was it like water. Rather, it was more of some pre-destined bond, something of a timeless quality in which both the Gardevoir and the Gallade felt willingly obliged to do without any protests. In other words, regardless of any external forces, the two Pokémon were bound to one another without exception. They always were and they always had been. How they "met" in their waking lives was merely an illusion, a misconception, a false impression. In absolute truth, they were simply reuniting. Deep down, to the very bare core of their individual souls, they knew it._

As she sat on her bed, the dream replayed itself, fragments of it repeating as if it were some spasmodic, never-ending cycle. The sounds they made, the touches they brought about, the feelings of longing and intense care for one another… None would release their tightly sewn grips in Lydia's head. Her heart soared in bitter, fervidly impassioned anger.

It didn't help Lydia when she found her eyes releasing hot, moist tears raining down onto her hands.

* * *

Often, she would daydream ambiguously. At times, she would subconsciously form her lips to say the first letter of his name. Her lips would purse, her breath would exhale, and her tongue twisting in a shape that would prepare her to whisper, "Rex…"

When she did say her name, she would cruelly curse herself. Sometimes, his name would be so provoking that she wanted to kick something until her foot started bleeding, scream until her voice was lost forever or burn herself alive. Yet no matter how violent she could be, no matter how violently she spoke, she never physically harmed herself. When she attempted to slash her wrists with kitchen knives, or strike the glass until her hands were recklessly bleeding, she couldn't find the will to do so any longer. Her sense would come to mind, and she would realize how much of a pathetic fool she would make herself. The weapons of death were everywhere, she thought. As morbid as it was, anyone could kill themselves through the most unusual of ways. On some calm days, she was gratefully, genuinely relieved that she had not done any harm to her own self. Strangely enough, on other calm days, she mildly decided she was insane. It was much like a wrong, clashing note of a harmonious, piano sonata.

* * *

Lydia's days of absent Rex would be gone, and she hadn't any expectation of this. She harbored some natural, intuitive feeling that something big would happen, and she didn't think that it would be as momentous as seeing Rex again.

The night after her embarrassing incident in the hotel room, she checked out of the hotel and made her way to the local train station. Lydia was more vulnerable than usual today, physically and mentally, because of that haunting dream that refused to leave her. Understanding her defeat, she would allow her time on the extraordinarily long trip home to New Tork City spent on her memories with the one she could only ever love.

As she waited patiently on the platform, she straightened her cashmere, burgundy scarf. The weather was slightly cooler than usual, she observed. Autumn was settling in deeper and deeper by the day, and it would soon give way to chilly winter, her favorite season.

The picture was perfect. Lydia, the mysteriously esoteric Gardevoir wrapped in a red scarf, was standing in a beguiling statuesque pose, one hand holding her small, durable mahogany suitcase that held all of her essential needs, while the other possessed a moderate, black tote bag that slung around her shoulder.

Nearby, the time-honored, vintage train blew its loud, classic whistle.

* * *

I didn't think I'd write an M-rated fic, but here it is. I don't know how dark this will be; it's just going to be very, **very** dark. If it gets up to the point where things and events in the story will feature explicit scenes (violence, sex, etc.), the story will be discontinued on and I will be uploading the story to another site so that I don't get in trouble. At the moment, my plans include **a lot** of dark events, and I'm getting super paranoid about including those scenes in this story here on the site. :/ Anyways, here goes.

Oh, and I almost forgot to add that this story _will not_ be the smut-filled, pointless-sex/violence kind. Just throwing that out there, for those who are curious.

Reviews, as always, are appreciated.


	2. Après un Rêve

Chapter 1: _Après un Rêve_

The doors of the deep burgundy-coated train slid open, inviting Lydia inside the warm locomotive. She stepped on the first class train, quietly looking from left to right, hoping to sit at the car with less Pokémon. Lydia swiftly chose the emptier car of the train, promptly sitting at one of the leather seats, the color of East Indian rosewood. A mahogany table was placed between the uncomfortable-looking leather seats, providing a surface for those who needed to do any sort of work. The Gardevoir settled her suitcase on top of the baggage shelf, sitting down on the surprisingly pliable leather seat.

The train whistle blew loudly — Lydia thought it blew a rather lengthy, and sharp, A. She was a professional opera singer, and so, by default, her ears demanded to have an extreme and superior acuity. For a classical musician like her, not having such trained ears was unacceptable and inexcusable.

_In any case,_ Lydia thought, beginning to stare out at the window as the train slowly started pulling away from the platform, giving her a magical illusion that time was traveling to the past and the future all at once, _the story must go on…_

If Lydia were to tell her love story to some random, quiet stranger (which she probably wouldn't, but hypothetically speaking, let us say she would), she would regret to inform the stranger that the romance started in high school.

She could see the disgusted expression on the face now; the look of displeasure twisting their supposed, introvert smile into a vexed grimace while the eyes would look at the Gardevoir in some cynical glare, as if to say, _This love story is going to be truly _pathetic_._ After all, who even _likes_ high school? For those similar to Lydia, it went without saying that high school was hell, and that the terribly trite melodrama that took place in that damn place was laughably awful. If one decided to look at it that way, her love story that started in high school was just as horribly corny.

In any case, however…

Due to a bitterly doleful past of Lydia's, she was forced by the government as a sixteen-year-old to live with her ghoulishly odd uncle, her mother's despicable stepbrother, a Dusknoir named Brownson. Weirdly enough, he had a stepdaughter, who was a Lopunny named Hannah, a heavily extroverted and superficial teenager who was around the same age as Lydia. The Gardevoir never really liked the Lopunny, and she _hated_ it when Pokémon automatically assumed her best friend was a Lopunny. Lydia could remember the comments now — for a beautiful Gardevoir like yourself, surely your best friend must be a Lopunny?

"No," she would say coldly, her red gaze slicing through those who dared assumed that some Lopunny was her best friend.

Nevertheless, Hannah the Lopunny played an important role in her love story, as much as Lydia hated to admit it.

"But wait," Lydia would say, catching the listener's breath, "while my romance does blossom in high school, the very origin of the story starts in a metropolis called New Tork City."

* * *

Of course, Lydia the Gardevoir would never expect such a thing to happen to her.

She never made the promise that she would not fall in love. Such a thing would prove her pointless, stupid, and pathetic. All the while, she never really accepted within her that there was someone out there predetermined to love her.

Lydia's opinions about love were rather bland. She didn't want love to strike her with its arrow, and she didn't think she would care anyways if love did strike her with its arrow. Love, she thought, was similar to doing chores, something mundane and uninteresting. It happened to everyone, just like sex. When it came to sex, you did it to replenish the population. You did it so you could "fit into society," whatever the hell that meant. You did it because it was "traditional." Everyone must fall in love and have babies and live happily ever after. Hah. But that was about sex. Love was different.

The Gardevoir had heard about love, and how there was always a soul mate for everyone. Of course, this amused her. She laughed at the notion of a "soul mate." It seemed so foolish, so trite, and so inexplicably corny that she felt supremely confident when she said to herself, "If I ever find this so-called 'soul mate,' I should very well give up my belief that love does not advance a successful career."

Lydia always found herself admiring those strong, iron-willed figures who never married. CEOs, presidents, independent artists, all of whom never married nor had children. It was they, pragmatic, no-nonsense individuals, who understood the world globally more than anyone else, Lydia thought. They were the ones she looked up to, and she would not settle for anything less when she was an adult. Whatever she was going to be, she was going to have the personality like them.

And that meant love could not interfere. Love was never effective as a medium to make a serious, global impact, after all.

Of course, Lydia never expected how wrong she was. She did find her, what was called, "soul mate," not very quickly, nor very long.

She met Rex some time before her mother suddenly and mysteriously vanished, having encountered him on the lonely Inwood Hill Park of Upper Manhattan when she was fifteen, also having just finished her sophomore year in high school. Lydia was staring out at the ever-gentle East River, enjoying the sight of the gray clouds covering the sky. It looked so close to raining — the weatherman that day predicted that there would be a chance of rain — but it didn't rain.

It should also be noted that this event happened prior to the events of her violent scar engraved on her, and so, one could conclude there was still some class of carefree, yet somehow mature, innocence surrounding Lydia.

The wind was blowing very vaguely, as if she were in some kind of transcendent dream, soon beckoning the summer weather to arrive. She was very content; her musical studies were going very well and she was acing her school grades quite vigorously. For her, she was very honest when she said she didn't care about her school grades. The Gardevoir scoffed at the public school system, for she was justly superior to everyone in her grade when it came to scoring high grades on her exams and projects. Sadly, this attracted unwanted attention from many others, and Lydia found herself wishing they would all just leave her, _alone_.

Despite her impressive school grades, however, she had no intention of going to a top Ivy League college. She did, however, have an ambition to get accepted to a top conservatory of music, majoring in classical voice and opera performance, hoping to be a successful opera singer. This was her true passion, and she wouldn't allow herself to ever rest to do so.

Still, on that day, she was satisfied with the world, she was satisfied with how smoothly her life was gliding, and so, she began singing a personal favorite French song known ambiguously as _Après un Rêve_, a song that she loved singing ever since she met her voice teacher. Lydia was facing the East River when she sang this, looking over at the beautifully engineered Henry Hudson Bridge. And in all entireties, she was positive that there was no one around her, so she was very comfortable in her setting. Thus, she was able to sing with a full passion that very rarely came to her.

_Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image _

_Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage,_

_Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,_

_Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore_

_Tu m'appelais et je quittais la terre_

_Pour m'enfuir avec toi vers la lumière,_

_Les cieux pour nous entrouvraient leurs nues,_

_Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entrevues,_

_Hélas! Hélas! triste réveil des songes_

_Je t'appelle, ô nuit, rends moi tes mensonges,_

_Reviens, reviens radieuse,_

_Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse !_

Lydia was sure she never felt what true love felt like, but she was sure that in this French song, the poet who wrote this was deeply, and desperately, and mercilessly in love. She imagined who that someone was who wrote the poem; the poem had a long journey. It was first written in the bright and light Italian language, and then loosely translated into the agreeably romantic and possibly melancholy French language, thus transformed into a beautiful, heart-wrenching art song that demanded a capable voice and a simple, but sad piano.

Her voice captured the attention of a nearby Gallade, who was idly taking a stroll across the cobblestone walkway, his deep indigo scarf swinging nonchalantly with the wind. He was young, and freshly graduated from college at the remarkable age of twenty, almost twenty-one, when he heard the budding lyrical soprano sing the melancholy French song.

He observed the Gardevoir carefully, decorously paying attention to the curiously atypical fact that her hair was long, reaching so far down her back that it covered her back horn. The effect on the Gardevoir was deeply penetrating, almost making Rex feel as if he was seeing a goddess right before his very eyes. He couldn't help but compare her to all of the other Gardevoir he had seen, who always kept their hair short, at most, leaving it down to the shoulder. Yes, the Gardevoir standing before him was a very blunt outlier. And despite the Gardevoir's young look, the Gallade named Rex couldn't help but think how subtlety and impressively mature her eyes seemed as she sang the piece.

He stopped near an antique-looking light post, her melancholy voice entrancing and enveloping him all around, awed at hearing a classical singer right before his very eyes. She seemed to take no notice, however, and she continued singing to the mellow river and the gray sky, her eyes brewing some romantically tragic tempest in which Rex could only imagine what was going on.

The Gallade suddenly wished he knew French, for he was much more fluent in other languages, that being German and Latin. His French was abhorrently rusty, so much that if he were to go to some French-speaking country, the citizens there might think of him as some stereotypically stupid tourist pathetically trying to look intelligent, anything but dumb. Still, there were bits and pieces of the art song he could make out, and as he heard the Gardevoir sing, his heart beat faster in excitement, eagerly awaiting the next words.

When Lydia finished her last phrase quite controllably, she breathed out a relaxing sigh of rest. The Gallade saw her chest (more specifically, her breasts) rise up and down, and he admonished himself for looking at such a sensitive place of a woman's body. Adulterated thoughts swam in his mind — he imagined the beautiful Gardevoir whose name he didn't know breathing against him, in some secluded, dark room, perhaps with the soft moonlight shining down palely against the two of them. Dear Arceus, he was such a pervert.

He stayed there long enough for Lydia to realize him watching her. Alarmed, she turned around very abruptly, disturbing the silent, equal rhythm of the air. Her face instantly blushed red, angry and embarrassed at having singing out loud as if she were some bratty diva. _How dare you watch me while I'm singing,_ she wanted to scream at him, _and how dare you stand here and commit such an act as scandalous as voyeurism!_

However, she stopped herself, for her red horn on her chest began tingling with ecstatic, conceivably painful and maybe even orgasmic, dare she admit, feeling. She wanted to embrace and relish it, yet all the more, she almost thought of it as disgustingly petrified. Lydia instinctively touched her red horn, completely overtaken by the new feeling. All previous thoughts of clichéd love vanished into some oblivious setting, and the Gardevoir found herself faltering at the sight of the Gallade.

Rex himself felt the very same feeling towards his red horn, and like Lydia, he felt the ecstasy, the pain, and the orgasm, were it even there. The feeling swept over him, and his heart swiftly rose in speed, especially now that she was facing him directly.

The two stared at each other, surprised, awed, disturbed, their passions for one another awakening as if Destiny were smiling to Itself, saying, _Yes, the plan starts coming into fruition now._ Lydia's already rosy cheeks blushed into a deeper red, almost the color of a seasoned, ruby rose. Rex, despite his usual coolness, felt that he would trip and fall over were he to introduce himself to the Gardevoir. Still, the Gallade attempted to make the first move, and while an outsider might have thought he was masterfully commanding his voice in front of someone so beautiful, Rex himself was rather disconcerted about his own control.

"That was… French, wasn't it?"

Lydia uselessly gulped, all of the saliva within her now gone. Her mouth felt like a desert. "Yes. It was _Après un Rêve_, a poem arranged into… into a French song by Fauré." Oh, goodness, her usually excellent French pronunciation suddenly seemed to turn into some deplorably wretched American accent.

"Well," Rex awkwardly smiled, his eyes darting away to the East River. He hoped watching the water would calm him, but to no avail. "That was… very nice."

The Gardevoir moved her head away from the Gallade, feeling the dry tongue hit the roof of her mouth as she said, "Thank you."

"I don't mean… I don't mean to sound like someone who's too intrusive and ignorant, but could you… tell me the translation?"

Lydia almost wanted to think it was an odd question. "Oh. Yes." The Gardevoir cleared her throat, and she began reciting the French poem into English with her hopelessly dry voice.

_In a slumber which held your image spellbound_

_I dreamt of happiness, passionate mirage,_

_Your eyes were softer, your voice pure and sonorous,_

_You shone like a sky lit up by the dawn;_

_You called me and I left the earth_

_To run away with you towards the light,_

_The skies opened their clouds for us,_

_Unknown splendors, divine flashes glimpsed,_

_Alas! Alas! sad awakening from dreams_

_I call you, O night, give me back your lies,_

_Return, return radiant,_

_Return, O mysterious night!_

Lydia sighed at the last phrase, her heart annoyingly beating faster and faster with every moment that passed. _For your own bloody sake,_ Lydia thought, _just calm down!_

Rex was thoughtful as he listened to the Gardevoir's beautifully velvet voice, trying his hardest to concentrate on the meaning of the translated words, doing his best not to get seduced by her flowering, possibly surpassing, lyrical soprano. He was able to conclude that certainly, the poem was romantically sad, but whoever was the poet who had written this was quite a liar. Whoever the original poet was, the original poet was deceiving his own self, wanting the night to cloak him in a series of insincerity and hypocrisy. Yet all the while, the music itself, the passion of the words wanted to pull the listener in with a painful, longing love that universally everyone desired.

"Of course," Lydia added hastily, her voice slightly stuttering, "the original poem is in Italian. It was rendered into French, and now that I'm reciting the English translation, some of the original meaning is more likely lost through those translations."

The sudden remark interrupted the Gallade's thoughts. "Oh… yes, you're… you're right."

It wasn't complete silence, as there were nearby voices chatting away a few distances. Whoever owned those voices were quite a range away, and so they wouldn't see anything happening between Lydia and Rex. Notwithstanding, the two were silent, saying nothing, only half-listening to the setting, and half-absorbed in their own thoughts.

And it was completely impulsive, but the Gallade suddenly asked in a brave yet hesitant voice, "Would you like to get coffee with me?"

Oh, and how Lydia reacted to such an offer from a charming stranger.

"Well…" Lydia slightly covered her mouth with the hand that covered her red horn, looking conclusively feminine in such a gesture, "I…"

_Maybe that wasn't the best thing to ask…_

Lydia sighed, the nervousness not at all releasing their grips against her entire body and soul. "In… In all honesty, I don't… I don't know. This… is a strange… situation," Lydia rambled on, fumbling to find the right words. She hated the realistic fact this setting was turning her into some moronic and unintelligent idiot.

"Of course," Rex started again, knowing her awkwardness, "I understand that if you wouldn't want to get coffee with some random stranger like myself…"

_Damn__!_ he thought. _T__hat was _really_ stupid of me…_

"Yes," Lydia replied suddenly, feeling her neck growing hotter, "though I hope you aren't planning on doing anything more than that…"

"Ah, no," Rex replied graciously, secretly relieved at her answer, "I promise you that I won't do anything near that level, and I'll keep it."

_Besides, if I were to do anything to her, it would tarnish the good name of being a Gallade: courteous and noble, never sinking to someone unruly and nefarious…_

"And I would prefer," the Gardevoir continued, her voice a bit more confident than before, "that we do not reveal each others' names."

The Gallade found himself smiling in soft amusement, though he was nowhere near rude about it. "I feel as if that only makes our encounter more sad and fateful."

"I'd rather keep it that way," Lydia replied, and returned his smile. "As you are probably aware, I'm not one to normally accept such an offer from a stranger. But perhaps it wouldn't hurt to do so today."

_In other words_, Rex thought, _this offer is all you're getting from this mysteriously beautiful Gardevoir._

Silently, the Gallade smiled, and offered an arm to the Gardevoir. The behavior seemed so foreign, so historic, so long time ago, and yet it seemed perfect for her to take the arm and walk along arm in arm.

Despite their ages, Lydia being a very young fifteen, actually, almost very close to sixteen, and Rex being a very recently young twenty, the two looked very much older, though their freshly young faces could prompt jealousy from many who were immature and very rightly, ignorant.

Of course, on that day, they had never introduced each others' names. Somehow, falling in love with a stranger and not knowing their names seemed undeniably romantic and esoteric, mysteriously seductive and acutely flawless.

They had coffee together at a local, quaint coffee shop — the kind in which made one think it had a European taste, in a nameless ambience where history and future met together in some admirable unison. The talks weren't so interesting, or so foremost. Lydia introduced herself as a bored honors student in her not-too-terrible high school, mentioning her most private passion of singing to the stranger. Rex introduced himself as a freshly graduated college student, earning an impressive master's degree in contemporary history from New Tork City's elite Ivy League university while also carrying a substantial interest in music in general — Lydia was impressed, though she then remembered that there were those prodigies who got accepted to universities at the age of eleven. Knowing this strangely didn't diminish the Gallade's worth to her. They went on talking even more comfortably then, finding a passion they found themselves intensely engaged into, none other than the very nature of classical culture and history in which made exciting talk only for those who were interested.

At the very end of the afternoon, when night was ready to settle in, the two were reluctant to part with each other. While they didn't know each others' names, it was clear they were much in love with one another. Neither Lydia nor Rex had ever felt such conflicting feelings, and Lydia almost regretted asking that they not reveal each others' names. But decidedly in the end, she stood on the end of her toes (he was very tall for a Gallade, Lydia noted) and softly kissed his cheek as a little remembrance gift from her. Rex, in turn, wanted to kiss her fully on her lips, though he was afraid of doing so. Lydia was a beautiful singer, and he almost felt unworthy of kissing those wonderful lips in which she used to sing, so instead, he softly kissed her on the cheek, lingering on it just a little more than Lydia herself did with his. (In spite of the comforting kisses, however, they still longed for a full kiss from each other. The unresolved desire was painfully aching to them, but they left their indecisiveness at that.)

When Lydia came back to her small, but sufficient and livable apartment that she resided in with her mother, the older Gardevoir noticed a certain look about her daughter. The mother softly chuckled to herself, for she was aware of her daughter's transformation in falling in love. Lydia waved this away, her face profusely blushing, claiming that nothing had happened at all. Of course, her mother knew better, for her daughter was falling in love. Like the young, hotheaded girl she was when she was young, she knew the symptoms of falling in love, and merely saying that nothing had happened at all was a dead giveaway to the truth.

The same could be said for Rex, for when he came back to the apartment he had roomed with classmates of his at his university, they all noticed that something strange had happened to him. Like Lydia, he denied this accusation, though denying it only made his acquaintances laugh even more. Fortunately, they stopped pestering him about it and left the situation at that. They knew Rex wasn't the kind to freely speak of his emotions.

That same night, Rex wondered if he should've kissed her fully on the lips instead of the cheek. He almost felt terrible to himself for not giving her a full kiss on the lips, and so he made this promise to himself:

_If I should ever see that beautiful Gardevoir again, then I will have to kiss her on the lips…_

Needless to say, they both thought this would be the only time they would meet each other and see each other. They thought they would never have that full kiss they so longed for…

Needless to say, they were both, so, very, extremely, complicatedly, and enjoyably wrong.

For what would have been the rest of that summer, the two Pokémon thought about each other, for their faces refused to stop haunting each others' dreams.

Rex would often daydream about her in his part-time job at a school camp teaching history to kids who failed even the basics of history, ringing complaints from parents and from his boss, though he ended up earning the money anyway. Lydia would often find herself stopping mid-phrase in a song while practicing, and she would often look out her apartment window very sadly, longing to see the Gallade once again. Sometimes, they would arrive back at that same spot in Inwood Hill Park, imagining that they would stare out together towards the East River. Sometimes, they would grab a coffee from that nearby coffee shop they had their on their "date." But they were never found together.

The two realistically agreed that they would never see each other again. Destiny might have been laughing, for they were both wrong.

* * *

Lydia was sixteen when it happened.

She had been a Gardevoir for about a couple of years, having evolved from a Kirlia at a relatively young age of fourteen. She wasn't a very distinctive Gardevoir, for anyone could easily compare her to another and say that there was nothing unequivocal about her, even though she was a blossoming soprano and rather the achiever in her school.

At least, not on the outside.

That would soon change, in any rate. When she was sixteen, something seemed to change, and her mature look deepened into something indescribable, something only to be witnessed and not talked of for a normal teenager.

On one late night, Lydia noticed her mother hadn't come home at her usual time from work. She thought of calling her cell phone, to which she did, though there was no response. By the time it was nearly one in the morning, Lydia panicked and she called the police.

The authorities came over, dealing with the worrisome situation, and for the rest of the night until the first rays of sunlight the next morning, there was a search executed for Lydia's mother.

It was unpleasant. Lydia was the only child of her mother, so there were no siblings in which she could share her anxiety. Her father had long passed away, and the family inherited a rather decent amount of money to survive off. Thus, in the end, only her mother was left to support the two of them, paying for Lydia's voice lessons among other things.

Her mother was an aging Gardevoir, a hard worker who encouraged her daughter what she loved to do best, and that was to sing. Her job was being a mediocre financial advisor working for a fairy well-known corporation, earning a not-too-loathsome, rather decent salary. She was a good, ordinary citizen, having her own interests as well as wishing for the best of her daughter, like all sane mothers. The ordinary, happy thoughts of her mother ran around Lydia's mind, swimming in some repetitive track unable to free itself from repetition, hopelessly clinging onto those long ago memories that she wanted to stay forever.

To her pitiful dismay, the authorities were never able to find her mother, and they all declared her as missing. The police suggested a number of uncomfortable ideas — her mother could have been possibly raped and taken hostage, or possibly raped and killed, and, oh, the possibilities were so uncomfortable Lydia was left crying about it for what seemed like countless days.

Through the lawyers, offices, paperwork, and authorities, it was eventually decided that Lydia would live with her mother's stepbrother, the Dusknoir named Brownson. Ordinarily, one would think she would be safe and sound from then on, though that was completely false.

She would have to sacrifice a good number of things as well, one obvious one leaving the city she loved living in, New Tork City. She would have to move to the quiet, suburban-like outskirts north of New Tork City to attend a so-rumored prestigious and private prep school called Brownson Private High School, in which her uncle was the headmaster. She would also have to say goodbye to her close friends, promising them all that she would come and visit without fail. Everything she knew and loved, she had to let go — her mother, New Tork City, her voice teacher, her closest friends, especially Inwood Hill Park in which she met that mysterious, charming Gallade. The only thing she could hold on was music, for it seemed to be her savior.

The only one thing she could rely on was the agreed weekly trip on Saturdays to New Tork City, for it would be then she would have her voice lessons with her private voice teacher at her music precollege. This was her last glimmer of hope, and for all of her junior year, Saturdays were the only thing she looked forward to for her happiness.

On the final day she was to leave New Tork City, she hugged all of her close friends good bye, and kissed her dear voice teacher good bye as well, who seemed to have become a nanny to her in her own way. She looked at her small apartment, saying goodbye to the memories she made with her mother and father, tears of pain and sadness escaping her eyes before saying to her mother's lawyer, "I'm ready to leave."

* * *

Rexford, the handsome, undeniably attractive Gallade, was content with himself. He had finally gotten away from that wretched girlfriend of his. Actually, she was now his ex-girlfriend, and he couldn't remember the last time he laughed so much when their breakup was complete. He was free, at last, unchained and unrestrained from that nagging, agonizing, excruciatingly bad-tempered woman. Life with her, he recalled, was total chaos. She loved imposing the rules that rule-abounding wives blindly followed.

But now, he had more freedom. He felt satisfied once again, he could do whatever he longed to do, and he was independent. It would seem that he had grown more handsome than before, for his smile was much more charming, and his build was much more rugged than he remembered it was. It must have been the breakup, he thought. The breakup had made him the happiest he had been in a long time.

It seemed like a good idea to date her, for starters. She was pretty, and he wouldn't mind hanging around her, though he would end up totally regretting of even thinking so. Besides, maybe she would help relieve the pain he felt when he said what he thought would be his final goodbye to Lydia on that one afternoon. His ex-girlfriend only seemed to make things worse. She pestered him, asking, "Was there someone else before _me_?!"

"Of course there was someone else before you," Rex replied, a question he instinctively knew the answer to, "She is a beautiful Gardevoir who is a wonderful, superior singer, and though we only met for one afternoon, she has _never_ left my mind."

That was when he learned getting a metal chair thrown at him could really hurt. Not long after, he called off the relationship and abandoned his ex.

While the breakup was liberating, Rex did need to find a new job. His new job was only temporary, the Gallade decided. He would be the one and only school librarian, and it was at a supposedly prestigious (for everyone said it was "prestigious") boarding school for high school students, known as the Brownson Private High School. It was small, but harshly selective, for they only took in twenty-five students most every year. As far as children with tiger parents were concerned, this school made your future or killed your future. All in all, the school kept a little over a hundred students.

The job was quite convenient, despite the fact that he wouldn't be exercising his master's in contemporary history. Because it was a boarding school, there was a separate dorm for staff only, and he was offered a room to stay there. He accepted, for he knew he wouldn't have enough money to rent his own apartment in the first place. Living with his ex-girlfriend nearly drained all of his money.

Though it was a well-known boarding school, so well known everyone had to label it as prestigious, the Gallade couldn't help but laugh at its superiority.

_Prestigious_, he scoffed. _It doesn't matter how "prestigious" a high school is. True learning is based on a foundation that is suitable for the individual — the "one size fits all" idea is exactly what this school runs on and it, frankly, is inefficient and justly unworthy._

It made the Gallade remind him of his own high school days. They were absolute hell. He wished it would've been more bearable, though there was no one he could love, and all of his "friends" were actually fakers who were all just _stupid_. Nearly all of the girls were artificial as well, given the exception for the rare few who weren't, but even then, as nice as they were, they never really made it more comfortable for the Gallade to bear with.

A few days before the official first day of school started, Rex checked in with the main office, settling and making sure everything was comfortable. He grew accustomed to the format of the building, understanding certain rooms and procedures that all staff was required to follow. Despite the fact that he was almost twenty-one, though, he was able to meld in with the rest of the teachers and look like any other adult.

The library, however, was the most interesting thing that caught his attention.

It happened to be the oldest building on the campus, its architecture a suitable blend of Romanesque Revival and Gothic styles, and nearly all of it made with sturdy granite among other assortments of stone. The previous librarian had kept everything neat and tidy before retiring, and so it was to his convenience that he was able to browse around like a scholar, being intrigued by the various books the library had to offer.

Unbeknownst to him, his satisfaction would heighten to something into a profound happiness later on.

* * *

At the time Rex was hired as a librarian, Lydia had finally arrived at the dreaded private prep school.

Her dreaded uncle headmaster, Brownson, and her much too cheery cousin, Hannah, greeted her amiably, and she could not bring herself to smile. She didn't want to smile, and even if she were forced to smile, anyone could immediately tell it was fake, and it would only make her unhappier than she needed to be anyways. Nonetheless, Brownson ignored this, and while her adopted cousin was aware of her agitated attitude, the Lopunny nonetheless went ahead and did her best to make friends with her. Lydia's own dorm room would be shared with Hannah, which didn't really add any more torture to the Gardevoir, considering that her attitude by now was, _How else can you make this worse for me? You might as well throw me into Hell_. All she could do was endure until she would be able to go back to New Tork City the coming Saturday for her voice lessons.

How she missed New Tork City. The grand city was her home, her life. She had just arrived the past few days before school started, and she was already longing for her true home.

Before the first day of the prep school, however, students were given the freedom to wander around and explore the campus, provided that they were traveling around only tolerated areas. After seeing that Hannah was off with her other friends, Lydia was finally alone, and she carefully observed the campus map, thinking that it wouldn't hurt to kill time by exploring around the school by herself.

Brownson Private High School covered a noteworthy span of a hundred acres. One northeast corner was an environmental center, taking about a fifth of the campus in which all biology and ecology classes would use to study nature. The northwest corner of the campus housed the gym, in which anyone could figure out what took place there.

The very middle of the campus seemed to be the most intriguing for Lydia, however. Besides the four mundane-looking buildings housing all of the everyday classes and dorms for all students, there was the library in which she caught a glimpse of, and she told herself she would pay a visit to it later, hoping that there would be some comfort in the Romanesque Revival and Gothic building. There was also another building that intrigued her, that being a decent-sized, Norman architectural church with beautiful, intensely colored stain-glassed windows, called _Auburn's Abbey_. The most secretive building however, grabbed her attention, and the map labeled it as _Auburn's Castle._ Indeed, it had the appearance of a castle, the Flamboyant Gothic architecture undeniably prominent. Everything inside the building was dark, for there seemed to be no lights, and not even a hint of modern technology was imbedded within the landmark. Something strange struck Lydia about this building, and she wondered exactly what a castle was doing here in the middle of a campus.

_Well,_ Lydia thought, scanning the rest of the campus map, _at least this question gives you something to do while you're here. You'll just have to search for an answer later._

The rest of the campus struck Lydia as even more strange.

There was a graveyard covering the rest of the quarter left of the campus, named _Auburn's Graveyard._

_Why in the name of Dialga is there a _graveyard_ on this campus?! _Lydia thought, understandably alarmed.

"Oh, there she is!" a gallingly high-pitched voice seemed to squeal.

"She's your _cousin_?" another distressfully unnatural high-pitched voice shrieked excitedly.

_Oh, damn,_ Lydia facepalmed, not wanting to face the Pokémon before her. _Someone shoot me _now_…_

"Well, like, duh!" Hannah's familiarly disturbing voice answered.

Lydia turned around awkwardly, trying to swallow the bitterly vexatious feelings piling up within her. She found four Pokémon heading towards her, Hannah leading all of them. Lydia instinctively labeled them as a clique, and they were, probably no doubt, the Alpha Bitches of the Brownson Private High School.

"Hey, hey, Lydiaaa," Hannah smiled much too loudly, grossly emphasizing her name, "Just wanted you to meet all of our best friends. This is Abby, the Lilligant, as you can see, and this is Christine, the Gothitelle, and this is Leanne, another Gardevoir, just like you, even though her hair's shorter but still!"

All four Pokémon were superficial, completely caked with makeup on their faces done in a way that would make an ordinary female jealous. Surely, they all looked ready to pose on a September issue of the high-end fashion magazine known as _Vogue_, for their Rubenesque bodies would prove so. Lydia was ready to laugh at them knowing that deep down they were phony and pathetic. How ironic, considering that she was just as disgusted with this clique. Most likely, they were at the top of the popularity food chain in this dreadful prep school. Hannah was the headmaster's daughter, and that automatically gave her more power than anyone else had.

"Hi," Lydia mumbled ungracefully, only guessing what could happen next.

"So, like," Hannah started, "We were wondering if you, like, want to join us."

Lydia felt like throwing up just listening to their voices. She would have to listen to a Beethoven symphony later to cleanse her mind of their unattractively high-pitched voices. Or maybe that Bach Chaconne in D Minor, for that was a very redeeming piece as well. Either way, Lydia's feelings could all be expressed with a single word: _Ew._

_ I hate the way you talk,_ Lydia thought along. _Seriously, _why_ do you talk like this?_

"… Join you?" Lydia looked at the clique quizzically.

"Well, duh, I mean like, you're really pretty and smart, like us, so it's only natural for you to join us."

Lydia instinctively wanted to punch the Lopunny's face. Nevertheless, she controlled herself, and she was able to hide her true feelings quite well. The Gardevoir named Leanne certainly wasn't able to sense any kind of detest from Lydia.

"No, but thank you anyway," Lydia managed to roll out. She swiftly turned around, her hair and gown following artistically en suite.

"Ex-ca-yuse me, Miss Drama Queen!"

"Oh, just…" Lydia facepalmed once more, the rage building up inside. She could not afford to scream; if she did scream, her voice would be ruined, so ruined up to the point that she would not be able to practice singing for a good number of days. She wouldn't be able to sing if she screamed, and she had absolutely no desire to develop voice nodules. Those were much easier to prevent than to get rid of anyway. (Lydia, despite doing well on her voice lessons, did not have absolute vocal coordination, as her voice was still developing. If she were to do any harm to her voice, she would only hinder her learning in the field of classical singing.)

"Please, just…" Lydia was shaking, struggling to not explode. "Just… I'm still new around here, okay? You need to give me some time to adjust here, alright?"

Hannah sighed in a dramatic fashion. "Fine. Still, it would be nice for you to hang around _us_, because everyone else here is pretty lame. Except for some of the boys…"

_Let me guess_, Lydia thought sarcastically, _you all have boyfriends, who are all "hot" and "smart." Ew. I wonder what other stupid things you do besides act rude to every other Pokémon you don't like — are you obsessed with third-rated boy bands like One Direction or other cheap singers and actors like Miley Cyrus? Please, dear Arceus, just, GET. OUT. OF. MY. FACE._

Lydia instantaneously ran away from the pathetic clique, hot tears starting to shape around the corners of her eyes. The clique looked at her in surprise, though Lydia didn't care what they thought of her.

_All because my mom is missing, I'm stuck here in this crappy, goddamn hellhole called Brownson Private High School… _Lydia covered her tears, hoping that no nearby Pokémon would notice her. _Damn it, damn it all, I can't believe I have to deal with this goddamn shit for the next two years…_

Lydia ran and ran, all the way until she couldn't run any longer on the school campus, seeing that there was a non-climbable stone wall that surrounded all one hundred acres of the school. She collapsed onto the unexpectedly soft, green grass, her back leaning on a nearby, deciduous tree, impossible for anyone to see her face. Though she noticed, she gave a second-long look of uninterested attention to the nearby pond that seemed so large one could call it a small lake. Still, that wasn't so important to Lydia at the moment.

_I miss everyone… _the Gardevoir thought, knowing that there would be no one to share her pity as the tears continued spilling down her face, sobbing with excellent control so that she wouldn't sound like a spoiled, teenage girl. _I miss my mom… I miss my friends at New Tork… I miss my teacher… I miss all of New Tork… Oh, goddamn, where is all of this crying going to? I should just stop being so pathetic…_

The time passed by as time usually passed by.

Lydia's tears kept on spilling, up until there could be no more tears to spill.

When she was finally done, she finally rubbed her face, looking at the pond. It was only now that she realized how tranquil and reflective this pond was. Slowly, she observed her own face in the mirror-like pond, the water moving so very smoothly. Her eyes were still red, and puffy, but no matter. The most important thing to her was her voice. She hadn't wailed out loud like some immature kid, and her temper hadn't exploded like some sophomoric teenager. Her voice was safe, and as long as it was safe, she could wait patiently for the next Saturday, bearing the hardships of this despicable high school. She would get back to her dorm, or if that obnoxious step-cousin of hers was hanging in the room, she would have to go to the Fine Arts building, in which she would find a practice room with a hopefully decent piano and practice singing there.

Unforeseen voices suddenly caught the attention of Lydia. At first, she wondered if there was anyone watching her — she hated being watched, after all, unless she consciously knew about it. If she was singing in front of an audience, she wouldn't mind. But if someone was watching her, and she was unaware about it, she always became extraordinarily insane. Favorably, no one was watching her.

The Gardevoir resumed back at staring at her reflection in the pond. However, the nearby voices were annoyingly _loud_ — they sounded like girls, but they weren't Hannah's clique. Despite that fact, she felt like attacking them with a storm of Magical Leaves.

_For the love of Mew, just LOWER YOUR VOICE! _Lydia thought, her fingers curling into a stiff first. The words still managed to sink within Lydia's ears anyway.

"Did you hear about the new librarian?"

"I heard he's, like, _really, cute_!"

"Have you seen him yet?"

Oh, the gossip. Lydia sighed, her back tensing at their unpleasant volume of their voices.

"And, he's, like, really, really young too! I heard he's only, like, twenty-one."

"He's a Gallade, right? I bet he's cuter and hotter than the Gallade in our classes."

"But, like, why is he here?"

"How should I know?"

"Whatever, let's go see him!"

"No, what if he notices us?"

"Yeah, like, I don't want to go either! What if he knows what we're up to?"

Lydia was ready to punch them all in the face. The resentment on her face was very visible, but it took her conscious a considerable amount of control to keep her from erupting like some ruthless volcano.

"… Just… shut… up…" Lydia said through gritted teeth, her fists slowly releasing their tight grasps.

With a swift movement, Lydia stood up from her standing place and opened the campus map within her hands, calculating the quickest way it would take to get to the library. If she had something quick to do, it would distract her from releasing her rage.

_Well, I'm very near the Fine Arts building, but I don't have my music right now so practicing might as well wait until later. Besides, you did say you would go look at the library anyways. And you would need to find out the history of those buildings around the campus. The high school brochure doesn't help with their pathetically explained, three-sentence paragraphs about the history of the campus buildings._

Very soon, Lydia had resumed back to her normal self, the turbulent feelings pushed in the back of her head. Confidently, and maybe even with awe-inspiring honesty, she straightened herself and headed directly for the library.

Pokémon noticed this very atmosphere about Lydia, and everyone, boy and girl, looked at Lydia in curiosity. Murmurs of curiosity and wonder sprinkled throughout the various groups of scattered Pokémon, all staring at her in mixtures of jealousy and amazement. She ignored all of them — at the moment, she didn't care about them anyway.

It didn't take her long for her to arrive to the entrance of the Romanesque-Gothic library. She studied the architecture, her eyes taking careful detail of the pleasant building. It wouldn't be so terrible to spend time in here, especially if the interior of the library was beautifully designed.

"Oh my God," a loud whisper penetrated Lydia's ears, "is she actually going _in there_?"

"Ohmigosh! She's, like, _going to the library_!"

_Yes…_ Lydia thought bluntly, supremely annoyed with the way everyone here talked. _I'm going to the library and every girl is making a frickin' big deal about it just because there's some hot Gallade working there. GIVE ME A BREAK._

She sighed so loud that it seemed to shake her entire body. With another swift gesture, she straightened her back and headed straight for the classical-looking doors, taking hold of the rusty, golden-painted handle and opening it for herself. Lydia could hear girls gasping in shock, beginning to open their mouths in complete stupor. The Gardevoir slammed the door before she could hear any of their stupid comments.

The Romanesque-Gothic library had what seemed to be three floors (yes, it was three floors — as Lydia later noted). There was no one found at the reception, and she wondered if she would find the librarian. Perhaps he knew something about the campus history. At the moment, the idea of the librarian being attractive didn't matter to her, for she did not care at all about his appearance.

Half of the wood in the library seemed to be made with finely polished mahogany, the rest of the wood built with finished Makassar ebony. Lydia was quick to note that it seemed like the library had a recent renovation. Judging from the exterior of the building, she concluded it was at least a century old. The interior, though, looked like renovations had swept through the place.

Lydia proceeded through the antique library, the soft, palely colorful light shining down on her as she noted the multihued and geometrically designed stained glass window from above. All around, the walls were lined with books, wooden drawers, and delicate lamp shades. Near every few bookshelves, a modest-looking table stood out with emerald-cushioned chairs decorating about it. In all the wonderful furniture, though, there seemed to be no one else here with her.

The Gardevoir never liked shouting out "Hello?" so much. Lydia thought of it as embarrassing and unneeded. She thought of singing the first few measures of _Après un __R__ê__ve__,_ but that idea was something she wanted to trash out as well. Yet, she needed help, and she couldn't find a way to navigate around the unpredictably grand library. In the end, she decided she would rather sing for someone's attention rather than shouting for it. It was much easier to project her voice at a large volume than summoning all of her chest muscles to shout out an unruly "Hello."

Rex, meanwhile, was on the third floor, reading a fascinating book about metaphysics. He was so completely absorbed by the book that he failed to even listen to Lydia opening the door. There were piles of books scattered around the young twenty-one year old, the text demanding attention from the Gallade.

However, even books wouldn't grab his attention for very long.

Lydia quietly took a breath, her lips starting to form the first words to the very first song that she sang to the Gallade named Rex…

_Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image _

_Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage,_

Rex's ears perked up, his attention instantly captivated by the song.

_Could it really be… _her_? Dear Arceus, tell me I'm not dreaming!_

_Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,_

_Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore_

_Damn it! I must be going crazy! Are you screwing with my mind?!_

Rex swiftly and quietly abandoned his book, standing up and stealthily making his way near the stairs. The sound seemed to be coming from downstairs.

Lydia, meanwhile, stayed where she was. While she was singing, she could never move more than a few inches. Singing, especially classical singing, demanded the entire body to focus on projecting the sound as perfectly and immaculately as possible. Lydia was not yet an opera singer; opera singers were able to move efficiently and sing all at the same time. The Gardevoir was still sixteen though, so she was nowhere near as an expert as they.

_Tu m'appelais et je quittais la terre_

_Pour m'enfuir avec toi vers la lumière,_

_If it's really her, will you really kiss her, Rex? _The Gallade thought as he stealthily made his way down the stairs, careful so that the wood would not creak or groan in age.

_Les cieux pour nous entrouvraient leurs nues,_

_Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entrevues,_

_Hélas! Hélas! triste réveil des songes_

_Je t'appelle, ô nuit, rends moi tes mensonges,_

_Reviens, reviens radieuse,_

_Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse !_

Lydia breathed softly, driving her attention to her ears to pick up any sound of movement anywhere near her. She did hear sound, and she turned around, finding a very familiar Gallade staring at her. The Gardevoir's eyes widened in surprise, and her face formed a surprisingly beautiful look of astonishment, feelings of love surging within Lydia.

Without a moment's hesitation, Rex swiftly walked over to the Gardevoir, bent down unashamedly to meet her height, and kissed her with all of the passion and longing he had kept ever since he met her on that fateful day at Inwood Hill Park. Lydia responded with equal passion and longing, standing up at the edge of her toes so that the Gallade wouldn't have to bend down so much.

They didn't know how long the kiss lasted, but it lasted long enough for them to pant heavily against each other. Lydia's own breasts seemed to be pushing against Rex's chest, and while their passions were clearly storming, both were smart enough to not go any farther than the kiss. The kiss was substantial enough… for now.

"It's been a while," he whispered very faintly under his breath, a smile spreading across his face.

"Indeed it has, _mon amour_," she whispered back, her eyes displaying heart-aching warmth as she returned his smile.

* * *

Oh, it looks like you've made it this far! Here is the author's note for this chapter: the setting is completely AU in a fictional region I made up loosely based off of the USA. New Tork City is the equivalent to New York City. Also, imagine a world where Pokémon run everything: government, society, economy, you get the idea. No humans are involved; they're non-existent. This is the AU that I'm speaking of. But yes, there will be many cultural references, both of pop culture and "high" culture.

And while Gardevoir's "hair" is actually a helmet, I'm making Lydia have long waist-length hair in this one so don't complain! I just thought it would be cool to have a character as a Gardevoir with long hair! XP

I'm also allowed to use the French poem; it's in the public domain. I don't know who the original author is, but the original is Italian, written by some anonymous author. The French art song itself is very gorgeous, however.

Ordinarily, I hate high school fics, because it's just… a big **no** to me. But for those of you who hate high school fics too, I will do my best to avoid the high school setting as much as possible. The main setting will be the library, as nerdy as that sounds, and New Tork City. The prep school is kind of a hell that tortures our characters… perhaps I revealed too much.

This entire fic will run on a lot of classical music, so I'm sorry if I sound like some academic snob while I write this. Really, in all honesty, my wish is that this entire story will be very cultured, and I really just don't want to sound like some elite brat. Gallade/Gardevoir are Pokémon that just look extremely refined and cultured, so I wanted to put them into a setting like this.

Is there a next chapter? Yes. I just don't know when, though. Updates aren't on a solid schedule, but this isn't going to be abandoned. :D


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